


This Is My Design

by fragile-teacup (Mrs_Gene_Hunt)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Hair Washing, Haircuts, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, Kissing, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Sassy Will Graham, Sexual Language, Sexual Tension, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-10-07 21:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10370073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Gene_Hunt/pseuds/fragile-teacup
Summary: An AU Hannigram fic set during Season 1. The difference is that Hannibal Lecter is a high class hair stylist who wields scissors rather than a knife!Written as a Tumblr giveaway fic for the wonderful@granpappy-winchester.Huge thanks to the divinePKAfor beta-ing, and for commissioning an illustration from the unbelievably talentedtheseavoices(see chapter 3)!Much love and gratitude to@roguequartzfor creating two fabulous mock-ups of the magazine (see end of Chapters 1 and 4) and for coming up the with the title Our Design - absolutely perfect!I'mfragile-teacupon Tumblr. Drop by for a visit any time!





	1. The First Cut Is The Deepest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LazyBaker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyBaker/gifts).



' _This Is My Design_? What genius thought that one up?’

The snort that issues from Will as he stares at the glossy scarlet lettering prompts a sharp dig in the ribs from his companion.

'Quit it. Hannibal Lecter is the best.'

'Yeah?' Will eyes the salon front dubiously. 'Up there with Siegfried Sassoon, no doubt.'

'It's Vidal, idiot, and luckily for you, yes, he is.' Beverly pins Will with a withering glare. 'The man has a four week waiting list and I'm only giving up my appointment because you’re going to need a genius to sort out the mess you've made.'

Scowling, Will folds his arms defensively. 'Don't be ridiculous.'

'I'll tell you what's ridiculous,' Beverly snaps, features sharp with exasperation. 'You, with your lopsided DIY salvage attempt that's drawing the kind of stares we usually only get at crime scenes. So do me a favour and move your _ass_ , Graham.'

The interior of the salon is just as intimidating, and Will has to fight the urge to tell the briskly efficient technician who ushers them through to a small waiting area exactly what she can do with her butter-soft leather armchairs.

He resists and sinks into the nearest one with a muttered negative in response to the woman's rapid-fire offers of tea (iced, fruit or regular), coffee (decaf, latte or cappuccino), water (sparkling or still, with or without a slice of lemon) or champagne.

_Champagne? At ten in the morning?_

'Okay, Will, I'm leaving now. Jack wants the lab results asap. Can I trust you not to walk out the minute my back is turned?'

'Uh uh.' Stares straight ahead.

Beverly hovers over him for a moment before adopting her fiercest tone.

'I'll come back in an hour. And you'd better be looking one hundred percent better when I do.'

'Katz?'

'Yeah?'

'Fuck off.'

'Right.'

Will barely has time to even consider bolting for the exit before he's manoeuvred into a shiny black gown and deposited in a red swivel chair in front of a large rectangular mirror.

'Hannibal will be with you shortly,' trills the technician. 'Are you sure I can't get you anything?'

To shut her up, Will asks for tea, black, one sugar. He's sipping it with grudging enjoyment when a tall man in a pressed white shirt and black pants materialises behind him. Their eyes connect in the mirror.

Sleek frame, slicked back dirty-blonde hair streaked with silver, killer cheekbones, slender hands.

_He's all sharp edges._

Heart hammering, Will takes a hasty mouthful of tea, wincing as the hot liquid singes his tongue.

'William Graham?'

Almost chokes at the blatant sensuality in the deep, accented purr.

'Yeah? Er, yes. That is, I'm not -'

_Oh, for fuck's sake._

Will silently curses the burning in his cheeks and on his tongue. Takes a breath.

'It's just Will.'

'Will.'

The man flashes a wolfish smile.

'My name is Hannibal. Ms Katz has asked me to take very good care of you today.'

'Um, thank you.'

Another long sip. When finally Will raises his head, he's startled to find the other man leaning over him, almost as if...

'Did you just _smell_ me?'

'Difficult to avoid. Is it tar?'

'Oh. Yes. I couldn't get it all out.'

'Hm. I really must introduce you to a finer shampoo.'

Will winces at the laughter lurking in Hannibal's extraordinary eyes. _Like blood in moonlight._

He looks quickly away again and drains the last of his tea before placing the empty cup on the shelf in front of him.

'Not fond of eye contact, are you?'

Will returns Hannibal's smirk with a frigid stare.

'I wasn't aware that you were also a psychiatrist.'

'In another life, perhaps,' Hannibal replies with a glint of amusement. 'After all, in both professions observing is what we do. Would you mind telling me what happened?' Places his hands at either side of Will's head, pulling taut the longish curls on one side, but stopping short on the other where Will has hacked away with a pair of kitchen scissors. ‘I gather it was a work-related accident.’

_Gee, thanks, Bev._

'Yeah, I'm a consultant for the FBI,' Will admits, trying to ignore the shivers coursing down his spine as long fingers thread through his hair, lifting and separating the strands. Stroking. Caressing.

_Fuck._

'I help reconstruct crimes.'

Hannibal raises a quizzical brow. 'Dipping your hair in tar was part of a reconstruction?'

'Not exactly,' Will replies dryly. 'Normally I'm on the scene after the event. But in this case the perp was still in the house. Tar was his weapon of choice. When he tried to escape, he was carrying a bucket of it.' Shrugs. 'I got in the way.'

'You weren't burned?'

Disarmed by Hannibal’s concern, Will offers a tentative smile.

'No. He'd been hiding in the basement for several hours. By the time he decided to make a run for it, the tar had cooled.'

'Fortunate.'

'Yeah. Except it turns out that lukewarm tar is damn near impossible to remove.'

'Hence the extreme haircut.'

'Hence being marched here this morning by my bossy colleague.' Another smile, wry this time.

He finds himself liking the way Hannibal's eyes linger on his mouth, and for a few intoxicating moments he forgets why he's actually there. Until with a subtle shift in body language and tone, Hannibal's suddenly all business as he sets out his recommendations for treatment and styling. He throws out terms like 'organic oil', 'textured', 'undone' and 'point cut' and Will nods along as if he has a clue what it all means.

Handed over to yet another terrifyingly efficient technician, who leads the way to a set of futuristic-looking sinks at the back of the salon, Will feels his mood sinking. Doused, scrubbed, conditioned, massaged and rinsed to within an inch of his life, he's finally led back to his seat and slumps into it with a weary sigh.

Hannibal seems to have vanished. Avoiding the temptation to look around for him, Will grabs a magazine from the pile on the shelf and huffs a laugh that's pure irony as Hannibal's face stares up at him from the front cover. **'The Chesapeake Clipper: Maryland's Most Wanted Stylist'** gushes the headline. With a derisory grunt, Will tosses the magazine back onto the shelf, misjudges his aim and inadvertently sends the cup toppling over the edge.

_Shit._

'Was it as bad as all that?'

Lips pursed in a teasing curve, Hannibal takes up his previous position behind Will.

'I'm so sorry. It's completely shattered.' Will raises apologetic eyes to Hannibal's as a girl swoops in with a dustpan and brush to sweep up the broken shards littering the floor at Will's feet.

'You worry too much, Will. It's only a teacup. We have plenty more.'

Hannibal smiles, dark eyes holding Will's as he rakes cool fingers through curls now tar-free, damp and shining. Hot sweetness tugs in the pit of his belly and Will swallows hard.

Hannibal sets to work, movements quick and body graceful as a dancer. Will watches, entranced, senses attuned to the slide of Hannibal's fingers through his curls; to the provocative whispers of breath against his skin as Hannibal leans in to snip and clip with the tiny silver scissors he wields with deft precision; to the scent of Hannibal's aftershave, earthy and decadent.

Will finds himself drawn irresistibly into silent conversation, an increasingly coquettish exchange of glances evolving from tentative admiration to playful flirtation, culminating in a long look of heart-hammering intensity when Hannibal leans in to gently brush stray clippings from Will's rapidly pinkening ears.

Finally, Hannibal steps away. 'All done.'

Producing a tablet-style hand mirror, he holds it up for Will to inspect the final effect from different angles.

'I had to shorten the sides considerably to even them up.' A flicker of uncertainty as he adds, 'I hope it's not too drastic a change for you.'

Vigorously, Will shakes his head. 'No, I - I like it.'

And he does. He really likes it. It's just that he thinks he likes Hannibal too, and he can count on the fingers of one hand the times he’s had this reaction to anyone.

Hannibal clears his throat. 'Will?'

Pensive eyes fly to his face. 'Yes?'

But as Hannibal parts his lips to speak, another voice cuts in.

'Wow! Make that one hundred and ten percent. Hannibal, you're a miracle worker!'

_Damn._

'All part of the service,' Hannibal grins.

Pulling off the gown, Will stands awkwardly to one side.

_Service? Is that all this was?_

__'I'll go and pay,' he declares sullenly, disappointment eating through him like acid. The feeling doesn't fade as he hands over his card to the girl behind the counter, though he can't resist adding a generous tip to the already extortionate fee._ _

__While Beverly waits by the door, Will watches Hannibal surreptitiously as he bags up an array of small bottles._ _

__'A few different shampoos for you to try.’_ _

__'Thanks,' Will replies shortly, taking perverse satisfaction in the dimming of Hannibal's smile._ _

__'Would you like to make a follow-up appointment for six weeks’ time?' he asks hesitantly._ _

__Opening his mouth to issue a flat refusal, Will is incensed when Beverly jumps in._ _

__'Yes, he would! No way you're sliding back into the wild man of the woods look,' she adds in a reproving aside._ _

__Will waits with thrumming impatience as Hannibal writes out an appointment card and slips it in the top of the bag._ _

__'Until next time?'_ _

__Will nods curtly and grasps hold of the bag. He has no intention of returning. But just as he's about to pick it up, Hannibal's forefinger strokes slowly down the length of Will's. Will shivers, swallows a gasp, and meets Hannibal's heavy-lidded gaze properly for the first time since Beverly's untimely interruption._ _

__'Yeah, until - until then,' he finds himself agreeing, eyes softening helplessly._ _

__Hannibal's beautiful lips curl upwards and Will can't help but wonder how they would feel pressed against his own if he were to just reach out and pull Hannibal flush against him. He imagines their mouths slotting together perfectly, Hannibal's opening wide beneath his, their tongues sliding together, tasting and stroking and..._ _

__Becomes aware that Beverly is hissing his name, and blinks, hot-cheeked and mortified, when he realises that his arm is still outstretched across the counter. Hastily draws it back._ _

__'So, yeah, thanks.'_ _

__'It was my pleasure, Will.'_ _

__Hannibal's practically purring and Will doesn't dare look at him again, almost stumbling out of the salon in his haste to get away and recover what remains of his shattered dignity._ _

__'Will, what -'_ _

__'Don't ask,' he snaps, lengthening his strides, and Beverly falls mercifully silent._ _

__Back at the car, she glances at him. 'Promise me you'll keep the follow-up appointment?'_ _

__Sighing, Will pauses as he's about to toss the bag onto the back seat, feeling foolish as he admits, 'I don't exactly know when it is.'_ _

__'Well, look at the card, idiot.'_ _

__So he opens the bag and retrieves the card, white with a small black logo in the top left hand corner. A feathered stag head._ _

___Weird, but okay._ _ _

__Printed on the card is an address and a phone number. And handwritten beneath, a time. _Seven-thirty_. A slight frown creases Will's brow._ _

__'I don't get it. Why would he make such an early appointment?'_ _

__'Huh? Let me see.'_ _

__Will holds out the card and Beverly stares at it in confusion._ _

__'Will,' she says slowly, 'those aren't the salon's details. I think they're Hannibal's.'_ _

__'What? But that doesn't make any sense.'_ _

__'Hang on - there's writing on the other side.'_ _

__Heart thudding, Will flips the card over and stares down at the hastily-scribbled yet still beautiful cursive script..._ _

___Will. The teacup may not have come together again, but I hope very much that you and I shall. Have dinner with me tonight? H_ _ _

__'Well?'_ _

__Will raises his head. Meets Beverly's wide-eyed gaze. Holds up the card._ _

__'I have a date with the Chesapeake Clipper,' he says dazedly._ _

__And grins._ _


	2. Fringe Benefits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal's first date!

The townhouse is enormous. Addams Family enormous. Will stands at the bottom of the front steps, wishing fervently that he'd taken Beverly's advice and bought a new shirt before leaving the city that morning. Too late now.

Heart thumping, he pulls his phone out of his back pocket and thumbs her a quick text.

_Don't think I can do this._

Almost instantly, a reply zips back.

**Where are you?**

_Outside his house. It's a fucking mansion!_

**What are you wearing?**

_Navy shirt, black pants, grey jacket._

**Mm. Lamb to the slaughter.**

_Thanks!_

**Not you, dumbass. Him! Now go!**

Well, at least his hair's looking good.

A few minutes tick by before he progresses as far as the door. Checks his phone. Seven thirty-eight. Grimaces, tucks the phone away again and raises his hand to knock.

As if on cue, the door is pulled open and Will finds himself face to face with the Chesapeake Clipper. Swallows. Hard. Black pants again, but Hannibal's exchanged the white shirt for a dark green pin-check, open at the throat, cuffs rolled up to mid-forearm, and his hair spills across his forehead. He looks at once sophisticated and charmingly boyish. He is, in a word, devastating.

'Will, come in.' Hannibal's smile is warm as he takes Will's jacket and hangs it up by the door. 'I was beginning to wonder if you had changed your mind, and you should know that I have a strict twenty-four hour cancellation policy.' His eyes twinkle and he leans in, mock-confidential. Playful.

_Sharp edges blunted now. Oh god, I'm in trouble here._

'Even for dates?' Will asks distractedly, backing away slightly and looking around with a mixture of awe and trepidation. The place is like a museum; he almost expects a docent to materialise at his side and begin explaining the building's architectural history.

'Particularly for dates.' Eyes creasing with humour, Hannibal gestures for Will to follow. 'Please, come in and make yourself comfortable. The food won't be long.'

Led through the entrance hall to a large living space crammed with antique furniture, ornate paintings and objets d'art, Will's sense of unease increases. Nothing, not a single thing in this cavernous house, is relatable. _Comfortable_ is the last thing he thinks he's going to be able to feel.

He perches on the edge of a low, moss-green armchair. 'What's for dinner?'

Hannibal grins. 'Never ask. Spoils the surprise.'

'O-kay.'

'Can I get you a drink?'

_Just one?_

But he resists the urge to dose up on Dutch courage. 'No, I'm fine.'

'Then perhaps you wouldn't mind some company while you wait.'

'Company?' Immediately, Will tenses. Of course, he never asked whether Hannibal lived alone. He just assumed.

'She's getting under my feet in the kitchen. Abigail? Abigail.'

_Hang on._

But the protest dies on Will's tongue as through the doorway trots a beautiful red poodle. She's clipped close but her coat is free of show-style rosettes and ribbons. Padding up to her master, she butts her head gently against his thigh and receives an affectionate pat in return. Hannibal clicks his tongue and motions with his hand, and immediately Abigail sits at his feet, tongue lolling as she looks up at him with adoring brown eyes.

_I'm with you all the way, sweetheart._

'Do you like dogs, Will?'

'Er, yes.' Perhaps still a little early to confess to the seven ex-strays he's got waiting at home. On impulse, he gets up and crosses the room to crouch in front of Abigail. Holds out his hand for her to sniff. 'She's a standard, right? How old is she?'

'Two and a half.' Hannibal's doting expression reminds Will of countless parents he's observed at academy graduation ceremonies. 'She's extremely smart. Poodles are deceptively pretty; they're hunters by nature.'

'You hunt?' Will scratches behind one floppy ear and gets an enthusiastic lick in return.

Hannibal shakes his head. 'I never developed a taste for it,’ he admits wryly. ‘You?'

'I fish.' Will rises to his feet. 'Fly fishing. For trout, mostly.'

'An admirable pastime. And a happy coincidence.' Another flash of those predatory teeth, enough to send Will's pulse racing again. To cover his discomposure, he refocuses his attention on Abigail, and with an indulgent smile Hannibal excuses himself to return to the kitchen.

But once they're seated in Hannibal's eye-poppingly theatrical dining room, Abigail settled with a huff of contentment in a large basket by the living room fireplace, there's nowhere to look but at each other. And the food, of course, blue-skinned trout chasing their own tails, a choice of dish which immediately explains Hannibal's earlier cryptic comment.

' _Truite saumonée au bleau_ with vegetables and broth, served with hollandaise sauce on the side. I thought it best to err on the side of caution, not knowing whether you ate red meat.'

Will takes a forkful and hums his appreciation. 'I do, but this was an excellent choice. It's a beautiful fish, Hannibal.'

Hannibal's eyes light up with pleasure at the compliment and Will's breath catches in his throat.

_Jesus. This isn't fair. He's stunning._

Over three exquisite courses the discussion flows as freely as the wine, opinions exchanged on a range of topics, sketched in broad strokes, Will erring on the side of small talk as he imagines is befitting of a first date. Strange how easily words come – connections usually broken so quickly, here growing stronger with every shared thought. And linking each conversational thread, glances, warm and lingering. Drawn back into the heart-thumping intimacy of their morning flirtations, Will is uncharacteristically relaxed as he accompanies Hannibal back to the living room, whiskey glass in hand.

Everything about Hannibal Lecter exudes elegance, from the archaic charm of his home to the way he moves and the cadence of his speech. Will recalls with a shiver the dance of Hannibal's fingers through his hair that morning and suddenly aches to feel them there again.

Abigail is snoring gently in her basket, no doubt lulled by the crackling fire. Will smiles at the sight as he follows Hannibal through the room and sits beside him on a couch at the far end, near the harpsichord which before Will had barely glanced at.

'Do you play?'

'I do. And you?'

'As a matter of fact, I have a piano, but I've never played it,' he confesses with a self-deprecating smile. 'It came with the house.'

'Ah.' A curve of those beautiful lips. 'A peek behind the curtain.'

'Meaning?'

'You're not the most forthcoming of people,' Hannibal teases, dark eyes steady on Will's face.

He shrugs. 'I've gotten into the habit of not sharing. My, er, my thoughts are often not tasty.'

'I think you'll find, Will,' Hannibal murmurs, with a slight smirk Will finds weirdly adorable, 'that I have a more adventurous appetite than most.'

'Intriguing.' Will knows he's staring openly at Hannibal's mouth but he can't tear his gaze away. 'Then how about an exchange of information?'

'Quid pro quo?'

'Seems fair.'

'So it does. My turn then, I think.' Hannibal's voice deepens slightly. 'I was very pleased to receive your text this morning.'

'I was very pleased to read your card.' A trifle breathless from the butterflies fluttering wildly in his solar plexus.

Will had read and re-read Hannibal's message, agonising over how to respond to the invitation he could almost feel breathed seductively against his skin.

_The teacup may not have come together again, but I hope very much that you and I shall._

He recalls how his hands shook as he typed out his reply.

_You mean socialise like adults? How intriguing. See you at seven-thirty. W_

Their eyes meet. Heat rushes to his face as Hannibal raises a hand and brushes his knuckles slowly down Will's cheek. 'Why are you looking at me like that?'

'Like what?' Hannibal's voice is soft seduction.

_Like I'm something good to eat._

'Like you want to -' Boldness he had no idea he possessed has him setting aside his glass and cupping Hannibal's face between his palms. 'Fuck it. Do _this_.'

And then he's finally doing what he's fantasised about all day, leaning forward and fitting their mouths together. Tentative at first. Just a slow, dry graze. Until Hannibal slides his arms around Will's waist and tugs him in with a sigh that Will immediately takes advantage of, tongue slipping past slightly parted lips to explore and sample. To tease wetly until, with a gratifyingly loud moan that causes Abigail to lift her head and whine in confusion, Hannibal slides a hand up into Will's hair, snaring him fast, opening his mouth fully to return the kiss with devouring ferocity. Will's hands twine around Hannibal's neck as he surrenders, arching blissfully into the kiss that goes on and on.

It's slow and deep and passionate and sensual. It makes his knees go weak and his hands curl and uncurl. It's the best fucking kiss Will's ever had.

When it ends, Will's mortified to discover that he's practically straddling Hannibal, but when he attempts to wriggle away with a blush and a muttered apology, he finds himself held firmly in place.

Abigail chooses that moment to rise from her basket with a theatrical yawn. Stretching, she pads across to the couch, and Will takes advantage of the distraction to disentangle himself from Hannibal's lap. Perversely, he's disappointed when Hannibal releases him without protest, attention claimed by the dog pawing pettishly at his knee.

'She needs a walk.'

'Sure.' _That reminds me, the seven dogs I haven't yet told you about are going to be needing similar attention pretty soon._ 'I'll call a cab.' He tries not to think about how light his wallet's going to be after that trip, but even though he's nowhere near drunk he knows better than to risk getting into his car.

They rise together and he's about to precede Hannibal out of the room when he finds his hand captured. Halting, he turns, eyes questioning.

'You're welcome to stay here. I have several spare rooms.' Hannibal's tone is casual but his grip is possessive. 'I'm right in thinking that you live alone?'

Stepping right up to Hannibal, Will places his free hand, palm down, on the broad chest in front of him. Looks into Hannibal's eyes with a smile he hopes is winsome but is probably more on the side of sheepish. 'Yeah, about that...'

***

They walk Abigail together and Will orders a cab to pick him up in thirty minutes. Hannibal's taken the news of Will's pack with equanimity - barely even a raised eyebrow.

'I'll pick up the car on Monday morning if you don't mind it cluttering the sidewalk for another day,' Will says as they stroll side by side at a leisurely pace, Abigail bounding excitedly from one flowerbed to the next. 'Bev can bring me over before work.'

'I don't mind in the least. I would have been happy to return it to you myself but I'm flying out to LA tomorrow for a conference.'

'What about?'

'Trichology.' Off Will's querying look. 'The science of hair and scalp disease. Conditions like alopecia are frustratingly difficult to treat and many of us in the industry are focused on changing that.'

'Aesthetics become ethics. Admirable.'

Hannibal smiles. 'It isn't all about extensions and highlights.'

'So I gather. Um, I'm sorry about just leaping on you before,' he adds with a grimace. 'I normally have better manners than that. Where kissing is concerned, anyway.'

Stopping, Hannibal cups Will's nape with gentle fingers, drawing him close, and without preamble dips his head to claim Will's lips. Gut twisting with need, Will returns the kiss eagerly, licking into Hannibal's mouth with shameless greed.

The blast of a car horn signals the arrival of Will's cab. Startled and flushed, they break apart.

With an amused hum, Hannibal rests their foreheads together. 'Never apologise for coming onto me, Will. Especially as I fully intend to reciprocate.'

'You do, huh?' The tender light in Hannibal's eyes makes Will unaccountably shy and he presses his hot face against Hannibal's shoulder.

'Mm. As often as possible.'

_Yeah, I'm definitely in trouble._


	3. Rinse and Repeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was asked for Hannibal washing Will's hair, so here it is... and much love to my beta, PKA, for fighting for more hairwashing, less talk! (There's still a lot of talking though - well, these two just won't shut up!) Even MORE love to her for commissioning the stunning illustration at the start of this chapter from the divine [theseavoices](http://theseavoices.tumblr.com/)!

'It wasn’t _all_ my fault.’

'Uh uh.'

'Seriously, it wasn't.'

'Whatever you say.'

' _Katz_.'

' _Graham_.'

The glaring contest lasts for several seconds before Will throws up his arms in frustration. 'Fine. It _was_ all my fault.'

'So what are you going to do about it?'

Here he is again. Six weeks to the day of his first appointment, standing on the sidewalk looking up at the facade with trepidation. Again. Beverly standing guard. Again. And inside, the man he hasn't seen since that first day, that first evening, that first kiss...

_How did that happen?_

'Will?'

His mouth pulls into a thin line. 'I'll tell you what I'm going to do about it. I'm going to get my hair cut.'

Bravado aside, he's pathetically grateful for Beverly's parting words of wisdom: ' _Start with small talk to get things warmed up. Congratulate him on the award he's just won_.' Walking inside is fine; handing his jacket over to the same technician as last time is fine; donning a gown and being chaperoned to a station near the back of the salon is... nerve-wracking, but still he manages to keep his composure. The problem is, he knows what's coming. The problem is...

'Hello, Will.'

_Reckoning._

Deep breath, eyes flicking up to the mirror.

'Hello, Hannibal.'

Troubled blue eyes meet fathomless dark.

_Like black ice._

Will winces inwardly but ploughs on. 'Er, congratulations. Bev told me about the award.' Hates how brittle his voice sounds.

He's rewarded with a slight pause and a curt nod. 'Thank you.'

'What did you get?'

'A certificate and a sugar stained glass trophy. What can I do for you today, Will?'

_So much for small talk._

'Well,' eyes shifting uneasily away from Hannibal's to study his own reflection, 'it's gotten a bit longer but I guess just a trim?'

Another nod. 'Come this way, please.'

Will follows slowly, uneasiness building. Hannibal seems... off. Will remembers perfect fluidity and intimidating self-assurance. But today his movements are jerky, uncoordinated. His expression, previously serene, is now severe. Austere. But still achingly beautiful.

And it's hard, really hard, to think of where they might have been by this point - what they might have been - if not for...

'Take a seat.'

The rows of red leather chairs and black chrome sinks are empty. But it's only as Hannibal begins tucking a towel around Will's shoulders that it occurs to him to wonder why it's just the two of them. Surely Hannibal isn't going to...

'Tip your head back.'

_Oh._

Feels his face flushing as Hannibal cradles the back of his head, guiding it down to fit in the smooth nook of the headrest until Will's neck is supported above the basin, extended in a comfortable arc.

'Tell me how this feels.'

A barely-contained gasp as a jet of warm water cascades over Will's hair, Hannibal's hand smoothing back the sodden curls from his forehead.

'Fine. It feels... fine.'

Suppresses a groan as Hannibal's fingers sink into his hair, beginning a slow massage, transforming the delicately-scented shampoo from translucent liquid to creamy foam.

Fingertips work in circular motions, pressing firm. Hannibal's warmth, his scent, his nearness, an enveloping cocoon. Every nerve is lit and tingling, shivers rippling up and down Will's spine. He remembers his conversation with Bev and opens his mouth to speak. Closes it again, apprehensive.

'What is it, Will?'

Draws a shaky breath.

'I don't want you to think that I - just abandoned you. After our - our date.'

Hannibal's fingers still for an instant, before continuing to work the suds through Will's hair.

'Abandonment requires expectation, Will. We had dinner together once, exchanged a few kisses. What expectations did I have a right to after such short acquaintance?' Voice stripped of emotion. He could almost be discussing the weather.

 _Okay, now_ I'm _pissed_.

'Stop it!' Shoulders tensing, he hisses the words out but keeps his voice low, mindful of the semi-public setting. 'Jesus, Hannibal, if you're trying to make me feel worse than I already did, congratulations. I feel like shit, okay? Of course you had a right. We - liked each other. We were going to see each other again after your conference and I blew you off.'

'Three times, as I recall.' A slight edge now to those smooth tones.

Will huffs a sigh. 'And I'm sorry.'

A pause, then the sound of the water being turned on again. 'No matter. I assure you I am quite reconciled.'

_Shit. He's found someone else._

Will subsides into misery, passive in defeat. Still, as Hannibal begins rinsing off the shampoo, long fingers curling through Will's hair, teasing out the froth and tracing gentle patterns against his scalp, desire spikes sharp and his breath catches. Bev's face behind closed lids, fierce. _You can do this, Graham!_

'So about that award.'

'What of it?'

_Come on, Hannibal, I'm trying here._

He perseveres. 'Why sugar glass?'

An audible sigh that Will feels with a shiver against the top of his head. 'The award was for couture colouring. And the prize is hand-crafted every year by a master confectioner. Most winners keep their trophies.'

'But not you. You ate yours.'

'How did you know?'

He shrugs. 'Just a feeling.'

Silence descends as Hannibal slicks his palms with something that smells faintly of coconut and presses them hard against Will's temples. Draws them flat along the sides of his head until he reaches Will's nape, then pushes up to the crown and back along the sides again. The harsh drag of his nails against Will's skull pulls a whimper from the back of his throat and he thanks the gods for the concealing gown as he feels himself getting hard.

A drop of oil trickles down Will's cheek and he bites back a gasp as Hannibal trails a slow finger after it, stroking it into his skin, before moving back up to apply pressure with his fingertips at Will's hairline. Pressing and releasing, his fingers work slowly and steadily over Will's scalp, and as he imagines what else those skilful fingers could do if allowed to roam across his body unhindered, Will's breath hitches. He's never been so turned on in his life.

Intriguingly, Hannibal also seems to be breathing more rapidly as he switches the shower head on again and directs a warm, bubbling stream over Will's hair. His free hand follows the flow, tangling in the curls pulled almost straight beneath the weight of water. Stroking. Caressing.

It's delicious torture.

But time's running out. Will's hair is now squeaky clean, which means that any second, Hannibal's going to towel it dry and take him back through to the main salon. And then he'll have lost his chance. He feels the water pressure slow and then stop, and panic rises like bile.

'I was ill,' he blurts, and Hannibal's hands still again.

'For six weeks?'

'Yes, actually, you ass.' Bites his lip. 'Sorry. As a matter of fact it was longer than that, looking back. But it took a while to get the correct diagnosis.'

'And you couldn't have just told me?'

'Yeah, well, that's the part where _I_ was an ass.' Lips twist humourlessly. 'I've never been good at letting people in. You got in. Fast. I guess I freaked. And this was a golden excuse to back away.'

Hannibal moves around the sink unit and crouches before him, eyes soft.

'What was it?'

Will draws a harsh breath, feeling vulnerable and powerful all at once to have this man, who has haunted his thoughts every day for the last six weeks, almost kneeling at his feet.

'Encephalitis. I started - hallucinating. Getting headaches. Night sweats. I only noticed when -' Hesitates, eyes lowering.

'When?' Hannibal prompts, reaching out and squeezing Will's hand reassuringly.

He squeezes back, meets Hannibal's gaze square on. 'When I hallucinated an entire phone conversation with you, a week after we met.' A hollow laugh. 'I thought I was calling you back. Then I turned up at the restaurant you'd apparently booked to discover that no such booking had ever been made. And when I got home, there was a message on my answerphone from you, asking why I hadn't returned your call.'

A bead of water trickles down Will's face, catching on his bottom lip. Very gently, Hannibal brushes it away with the pad of his thumb.

'I wish you had told me.'

Lip tingling, Will smiles sadly. 'So do I. I just - didn't want you to think I was completely screwed up.'

Hannibal's brows lift almost imperceptibly. 'Instead you preferred me to think you disinterested?'

'I told you I was an ass.'

For the first time since Will walked in, they share a genuine smile. Hannibal's eyes crease with warmth and Will's stomach flips.

'I've missed you,' he breathes. 'I know we only had one day but damn, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it ever since. About you, with your cute dog and your amazing cooking. And,' eyes hungry on Hannibal's mouth, 'and -'

'This,' Hannibal murmurs unsteadily, reaching for Will and pressing their lips together, arms winding about Will's waist.

All the pent-up frustration of the last six weeks are channelled into the kiss: hot and desperate and open-mouthed. Hannibal surges forward, pressing between Will's thighs, and Will pushes back, hands clutching Hannibal's shoulders, their moans mingling. Hannibal nuzzles the side of Will's neck, turning it aside as he inhales deeply. The rough drag of his tongue is almost enough to make Will combust on the spot and squirming, he jerks back, before grasping Hannibal's face between his hands, chasing his lips to steal another deep kiss.

'Your hair is dripping,' Hannibal murmurs as they break apart again.

Will laughs dazedly. 'Not just my hair.'

' _Will_.'

Unabashed, he leans in and whispers against Hannibal's mouth, 'I'd like to resume our dating.'

And Hannibal whispers right back, 'Where shall we begin?'

 


	4. Cut and Run

_Three hours later..._

In the glittering foyer of a five star hotel, Will stands with dread clutching at his stomach, fidgeting with the starched cuffs of his shirt. The coal-black tux fits him to perfection, but the stares it draws only unnerve him more until he's just about ready to bolt.

_This is for Hannibal._

They've seen each other regularly since picking up again, spending a couple of evenings a week at either Hannibal's home or, less frequently, Will's; eating and talking, always ending up wrapped around each other on the couch. One month. One month of increasingly intense... kissing sessions.

_I'm going crazy._

'Will.'

Starting guiltily, he turns towards the sound of Hannibal's voice and smiles a trifle uncertainly as his handsome date strides across the blood-red carpet to grasp his hands.

'Please tell me I don't look like a prize idiot,' Will mutters, then, realising how ungracious he sounds, 'It's a stunning suit.'

' _You_ are stunning,' Hannibal reassures him, voice low, eyes caressing. 'If I saw you every day, forever, Will, I would remember this time.'

This prompts a warm laugh and Will squeezes Hannibal's fingers before releasing him. 'Well, then. Shall we?'

They're escorted to a large conference room and shown to a table positioned prominently by a raised runway, where half a dozen others are already sitting. All stars in the hairdressing firmament, presumably. Hannibal is seated on Will's left, talking with a man – tall, whippet-thin, stare intense – whose chair is edging closer and closer to Hannibal's. Will hates him immediately. The man – Tobias – seems to be attempting to persuade Hannibal to go into partnership. The idea doesn't exactly fill Will with joy, so to distract himself he turns to the person sitting on his right. Silent thus far, and rather morose-looking, the man is busy folding a paper napkin into some sort of origami creature. Will peers down at it.

'Nice... dragon.'

'Thank you.' Without looking up, his dinner companion says slowly, 'It's my new salon logo. I haven't seen you at one of these before.' His voice is almost accusing.

'Er, no. I'm not a stylist. I came here with Hannibal.'

The look the morose man shoots Will suggests a distinct lack of enthusiasm for that revelation.

Hannibal's still being monopolised by the touchy-feely Tobias. Will casts around for something to fill the increasingly awkward silence.

'What's the name of your salon?'

'Mr D.'

'So you would be –'

'Mr D.'

'Right.'

Thankfully, at that moment the lights go down, the host takes to the stage and the show commences.

'Tell me again what it's called,' prompts Will, pressing his thigh against Hannibal's in a determined effort to reclaim his attention. It's decidedly unsubtle but he doesn't give a shit.

To his shivery delight, Hannibal presses right back and whispers in criminally seductive tones, 'Baltimore State Hair Cutting Innovation.'

If he turned his head just a little to the left, their lips would connect. It's tempting, but Will knows instinctively that Hannibal would frown on such a public display of affection. He focuses on the topic under discussion.

'Bit wordy, isn't it? No wonder I couldn't remember.'

'We call it the BSHCI for short.'

Will blinks. 'That sounds familiar.'

'Will.'

Just that, just the sound of his name breathed against his skin, and he's hot all over. Turns his head without thinking.

'Wha –'

And Hannibal's kissing him. Soft and slow, hand on his thigh beneath the table. Will sinks into the kiss, eyes closing, fingers finding Hannibal's and lacing them tightly together. Enjoying the closeness, the lazy tease of Hannibal's tongue, the firm stroke of questing fingers high on his thigh.

_Dangerously high..._

'Hannibal, stop,' he murmurs, pulling away.

'What is it?' Hannibal's eyes are slumberous on Will's lips.

'I – I just want –' _to throw you down on the table and rip all your clothes off; to lick every inch of your body; to fuck you halfway into next week..._ 'to watch the show, okay?' Frustration sharpens his voice and draws a frown from Hannibal.

'Very well.'

There's no more casual touching after that, and Will avoids Hannibal's questioning glances as the perspiring, unprepossessing host vacates the stage and the first models take to the runway. Pop music blares out of hidden loudspeakers and Hannibal winces, which amuses Will no end despite the desire still rushing hot through his veins.

'I imagine your choice of music runs along different lines.'

'Rather.'

Hannibal gestures towards the runway, long fingers splayed in a graceful fan. Will tries not to think about how he would rather they were occupied. He fails.

'Is all this to _your_ taste?' asks Hannibal, doubtfully.

For a few moments, Will watches the sashaying models strutting to the falsetto of some Z-list manufactured pop wannabe. Each model has, piled high, a cloud of cotton candy hair: purple, crimson, lurid pink. He rolls his eyes and turns back to Hannibal.

'What do you think?'

Hannibal's lips quirk upward. 'I think that you would prefer to be just about anywhere else.'

Will's own smile fades. 'Not so,' he denies huskily, moving close again. ' _You're_ here, so this is where _I_ want to be.' Reaching up, he traces his thumb across the seam of Hannibal's lips and murmurs, 'I think I would follow you across oceans.'

Emotion flares hot in Hannibal's eyes and he parts his lips just slightly, just enough for his tongue to wet the tip of Will's thumb, for his teeth to graze the edges.

The familiar sweet ache of desire tightens in Will's belly. _Could tonight finally be the night?_ Looks back at Hannibal and they share a private smile.

And it's then that Will realises something. Something bloody momentous. Something that wipes the smile from his face as he goes cold all over.

Pulling away, he reaches for his glass of champagne. Takes a huge swig, which earns him a glare from Mr Dragon or whatever his name is. So just for good measure he takes a second gulp, eyes defiant on the creepy Mr D.

'When's it your turn?' he asks, swinging back to Hannibal and indicating the stage with a wave of his hand, the contents of his glass sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

'I would say in half an hour or so,' Hannibal replies, brow crinkling. 'Why?'

Pushing back his chair, Will stands abruptly. 'I need some air.'

'Will –'

'I'll be back.'

Stumbling from the room, almost crashing into the chairs of several annoyed-looking guests in his hurry to get out, Will heads blindly for the rear exit, to a decked terrace lit by strung paper lanterns, dotted with tables and chairs. All empty now, but he heads past them to a short flight of steps leading down to a small flood-lit garden. Sits on the top step and buries his head in his hands.

_A moment. I just need a moment._

Soft footsteps, sure of tread, signal someone's approach. Will doesn't even bother looking up. 'Go back, Hannibal.'

He's being rude and Hannibal hates rudeness. But right now he doesn't care. Right now he's just trying to hold himself together.

'I will not.'

A gentle hand on his shoulder that he wants to shrug off but finds himself pressing his cheek against instead. 'Go. Back.'

'No.'

'Fine.' A shuddering sigh as Will clambers to his feet. 'Then _I_ will.'

He turns to brush past Hannibal, avoiding his eyes, but to his displeasure he finds himself stayed by a surprisingly strong hand on his shoulder.

'You will not.'

'Hannibal,' he snaps, jerking back, 'I mean it.'

'As do I.'

Quiet, watchful, Hannibal tightens his grip for a moment then releases him.

They stand on opposite sides of the balustrade, silence hanging heavy between them. Will's still reeling from his epiphany and all he wants is to be alone... until Hannibal smiles. It's a smile of such sadness, Will's breath catches.

'I apologise,' Hannibal says in a voice made rough with pain. 'It was never my intention to make you feel trapped, Will.'

'Trapped? Hannibal, I –'

'Of course you must go,' Hannibal ploughs on, eyes hooded. 'I can see how appalled you are by all of this. How trivial and pointless it must seem next to the work you do.'

Will steps forward, heart pounding, eyes stinging. 'God damn it, Hannibal, you're going to make me say it, aren't you.'

He can see Hannibal steel himself and he bites back a smile as his gorgeous, idiotic, histrionic boyfriend whispers tragically, 'Say it. Say it and then go.'

Another step forward, another, and Will places his palms on either side of Hannibal's face. ' _You_ ,' he says tenderly, 'spend far too much time at the opera, my love.'

Hannibal's eyes widen fractionally. 'Will?'

Will tugs Hannibal's head down until their lips are almost touching. 'Back there I realised something,' he murmurs. 'Something I think I've known for a while. And I needed a minute to get my head round it, that's all.'

'What?' The tension in Hannibal is palpable as he holds himself rigid. 'Tell me, Will.'

And suddenly there's nothing easier. Because all Will wants is to coax back the charming, easy smile that punches him in the gut every time it's flashed his way.

'I love you,' he whispers. 'I am _ridiculously_ in love with you.' And he closes his eyes in fierce relief as Hannibal's arms enfold him in a tight embrace.

' _Will_.'

Lips cling, adoration in every exchange of breath, every stroke of tongues. Hands clutch and stroke, bodies pressed tight together. And words tumble free from them both, gasped between kisses.

'I'm sorry.'

'My darling boy.'

'I love you.'

'I love _you_ , my Will.'

Fingers buried in Hannibal's hair, Will chuckles and presses kisses to a smooth cheek now stained with pink. 'We must look a sight.'

'Mm.'

'Hannibal.'

'What?'

Gasps as Hannibal's hands wander south to cup his ass, pressing insistent hips against his own.

'As much,' he pants, 'as I love where this is going, you have a show to get back to.'

Hannibal groans into Will's neck. 'We could just disappear. Leave a note for the organisers and go; almost polite.'

Will nuzzles Hannibal's cheek. 'Bullshit.' He smiles softly, pulling away and grasping Hannibal's hand. 'Come on.'

'Where?'

The sulky note in Hannibal's voice is adorable.

'First, back inside so I can finally see these creations you've been rhapsodising about for weeks.'

'Hmph. And second?'

Approaching the conference room, Will stops abruptly and casts a quick glance around to check that they're alone, before grabbing Hannibal by the shoulders and shoving him back against the wall. Presses up close, lips feathering over the shell of his ear.

'And second, back to your place.'

Hannibal's hands fasten around his waist.

'Why?'

'You know damn well _why_.'

Somehow they're kissing again, and when they part, both are breathing raggedly; both are hard and flushed and wanting. And Will's ready to surrender. Lays his cheek against Hannibal's jacket, listening to the unsteady thud, thud, thud of his heart.

'Shit. Let's just go home. I _need_ you, Hannibal.'

He can feel Hannibal's triumphant grin. 'Say please.'

Will growls and brushes his fingers lightly against the straining thickness beneath Hannibal's dress pants. 'I'll say _pretty please_ if it'll get us out of here faster.'

A deep rumble of laughter shakes loose from Hannibal's chest and he runs caressing fingers through the curls he will allow no one but himself to cut. 'Ah, Will. What a cunning boy you are.'

**Epilogue**

Of course the show is wildly successful, and the accolades pour in for Hannibal, whose absence is forgiven when it is revealed in an Our Design magazine exclusive that he was busy that evening getting engaged.

The editor, Freddie Lounds, gives over the front cover to the debonair stylist and his temperamental fiancé. ' **Captured at last: the Chesapeake Clipper!** ' screams the headline. Hannibal is amused; Will thinks it's tacky.

On their wedding day four months later, Will is finally treated to a taste of the display he missed at the hair show. Helpless against Hannibal's powers of persuasion, maids of honour Beverly, Alana and Chiyoh, and groomsmen Brian and Jimmy, wear with heroic stoicism delicate flower crowns adorned with snails' shells, feathers and tiny antlers. The crowns at the show were also decorated with birds' skulls, but here Will draws a firm line. Even love has its limits.

'See?' Hannibal breathes, arms folded across Will's shoulders as they stand staring out over the Florentine skyline from their honeymoon suite balcony.

'Yes,' murmurs Will, leaning back against his husband of twelve hours in perfect contentment. 'It's beautiful.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the wonderful [PKA](http://pka42.tumblr.com/), who beta'd, advised and created the amazing Tumblr replication at the start of this chapter. Sweetie, you're my star!
> 
> Thank you too to the lovely [granpappy-winchester](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com/) for giving me the fabulous prompt that started this whole thing!
> 
> Thank you to my lovely, supportive writer friends who helped me get this final chapter posted - a little matter of making a picture appear - you know who you are! 
> 
> A huge hug to [roguequartz](http://roguequartz.tumblr.com/) for creating a second wonderul mock-up of the magazine - it was a fabulous surprise! And the edible trophy that Hannibal and Will talk about in Chapter 3!!
> 
> And finally, so many thanks to all you amazing, gorgeous readers for following, kudosing and commenting on this little fic. I love you! <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Illustration for This Is My Design](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12154065) by [TheSeaVoices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSeaVoices/pseuds/TheSeaVoices)




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